Killer Red and Green Sparrows
by Laora
Summary: Harry has a rather—uh—strange Christmas...


**_10/8/12: _**_Just FYI, this story is—well—old XD;; I'm probably not going to delete it, or get around to editing it to my liking, so...I hope you enjoy it all the same? Or else read some of my newer stuff before deciding I'm a terrible author and moving on XD_

_Thanks so much for checking this out regardless! I really do appreciate it :)_

* * *

Our young hero, a certain Harry Potter, was just getting into bed on Christmas Eve when a very peculiar owl flew into his window.

SPLAT!

Harry quickly ran to the window and opened it, heroically saving the bird. On closer inspection, however, he realized that it was not an owl. Harry suspected that it was some sort of killer red-and-green sparrow and quickly dropped it onto the floor, and it in turn dropped the letter it was carrying onto the floor.

Then, it started hopping around like mad, similar to what Harry had seen Aunt Petunia do when a speck of dust entered her house, and bit Neville on the ankle. Neville then turned into a killer red-and-green sparrow, and bit Ron. Ron then bit Seamus, who bit Dean. Before Harry could stop his dorm mates, they had flown out of the door, presumably to bite more of their fellow Gryffindors.

Thinking of nothing better to do—God forbid he might actually pluck up some Gryffindor courage and try and stop them!—Harry decided to sit on his bed, stroke his chin, and stare off into space daydreaming about Ginny Weasley.

After he decided that enough was enough, he walked purposefully out of the dormitory and down the stairs into the common room. From there he walked into the hallway—_"OUCH!" _he said, rubbing his head—before resuming his very important mission. Hooray for incomplete sentences!

Ten minutes later he arrived in the kitchens and yelled as if his life depended on it, "DOBBY!"

"What, Mister Harry Potter sir?" the elf cried, running up to him. "Dobby will do anything for Mister Harry Potter sir! Mister Harry Potter sir is…"

"Er…Dobby?" Harry said, "I want you to clip my toenails."

"Right-o, Mister Harry Potter sir! Dobby will now clip Mister Harry Potter sir's toenails!"

Ten minutes later, Harry decided that Dobby's toenail clipping was unsatisfactory, and went in search of someone else to clip his toenails.

Oh, woe is he.

When he arrived in the Great Hall—for no reason at all it seemed to be morning again—instead of food on the table, there was birdseed for the killer red-and-green sparrows that happened to be the Gryffindors, and soon the other three houses as well. Harry then saw quite a few English teachers faint from reading that horrendous run-on sentence. He decided that he would ignore them, because his Gryffindor courage seemed to have run away for the holidays, without leaving a sign saying when or if it would be back. It was quite beyond Harry why none of these killer red-and-green sparrows were trying to bite him.

Shrugging that strange thought off, he resumed his hike to his destination…

For reasons known only to himself, the Forbidden Forest.

Harry walked through the underbrush making quite a lot of noise; in the author's opinion it was a bit overmuch. But Harry James Potter had a mission.

Soon, he was surrounded by those ugly things—whatdoyoucallthem? oh yes, centaurs—who went on and on about how the Forest was theirs and he had no right to walk in it. Harry didn't really listen.

"Look guys," he said after half an hour of this nonstop babbling, "I came in here for a reason, ya know. Can you clip my toenails?"

"We, the mighty race of centaurs, shall never sink so low as to clip a human's toenails!" Bane said superiorly. They stood there in silence for a moment before all fifty-two centaurs broke down sobbing. Harry stood in bewilderment before Bane supplied, "Did you puny human never notice that centaurs do not have toenails?"

"Erm…no…"

"Well we don't, notice that, you imbecile. Our life-long dream is to paint our toenails sparkly pink and purple, but of _course_, centaurs just _had _to be created without them. That is the thing that pains us the most." Bane confessed to Harry, who was extremely confused.

"Don't people in your territory and the looming war you saw five years ago in the stars pain you more than not being able to paint your non-existent toenails?" Harry said, actually uttering a complex and literate sentence.

"Of course not! Toenails are so much more important than all of you idiotic humans!"

"Er…right…I'll just be going now."

Harry walked back the way he had come, and surprisingly found himself out on the grounds in a very short space of time. Once back in the Great Hall, he saw that the killer red-and-green sparrows had been replaced by none other than Jack Sparrow.

"_Captain _Jack Sparrow!" the eight hundred or so impersonators yelled. The author shrugs.

"Whatever."

So, Harry walks into a Great Hall packed with _Captain _Jack Sparrows dressed in Santa suits, and finds that this is much more frightening than killer red-and-green sparrows. He then exits stage left, screaming like a moron. The eight hundred Captain Jack Sparrows looked at each other in confusion.

"I don't get it."

Harry, panting, arrived at the portrait hole, which portrayed a rather frightening Fat Lady Who Really Needs A New Name Because Her Current One Is Rather Incriminating And She Can't Possibly Like It, or FLWRNaNNBHCOiRIaSCPLi—whichever you prefer—singing and playing the clarinet in A flat minor, which, as everyone competent knows, has two flats.

"_IT'S GOT SEVEN SHARPS, YOU IMBECILE!" _the Fat Lady screamed at the author, who cringed as she heard quite a few glasses break down in the Great Hall, as well as the glasses that were still on Harry's face.

Harry rolled his eyes after taking his ruined glasses off. "Fine, fine…anyone could make that mistake."

The FLWRNaNNBHCOiRIaSCPLi blew a loud raspberry and resumed playing her clarinet an _A flat minor_, which theoretically has seven sharps, but she, strangely, was playing it as if it had no flats or sharps, also known as C major. Which, as everyone knows is not very difficult.

"Says who?" snapped the FLWRNaNNBHCOiRIaSCPLi before resuming her screeching again.

"Erm…Fat Lady Who Really Needs A New Name Because Her Current One Is Rather Incriminating And She Can't Possibly Like It?" breath, "Can I get in the common room please?"

"Not without the password!" the FLWRNaNNBHCOiRIaSCPLi said cheerfully, and started up on the clarinet again. Not wanting to hear it, Harry said quickly, "The password is 'silver bells'!"

"No it isn't," the FLWRNaNNBHCOiRIaSCPLi said superiorly to Harry. He, not wishing to hear more of her screeching, quickly said, "It was the password when I left the common room last night. Just because we mysteriously skipped ten or so hours in a day doesn't mean that you can go ahead and change the password."

"I can do whatever I bloody want," the Fat Lady said, then, for unknown reasons, she began crying. "Nobody likes me, everyone hates me…" she sobbed to Harry, who was eternally confused.

"Er…why don't you go eat some worms?"

She screamed at him before opening up the portrait hole for unknown reasons, and Harry, still confuzzled, crawled inside.

The original killer red-and-green sparrow was still miraculously in the dormitory with the letter. Harry cautiously picked up the letter, and with one eye still on the killer red-and-green sparrow, he began to read it. The author would like to note that this would be a very funny sight if anyone had been there.

_"You Potter shmuck— _

_This is your eternal enemy, You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, whichever you prefer at the moment. Heaven forbid you call me "Tom". You will be at the top of my 'to kill' list faster than you can say 'Crucio'._

_But anyways…I'm just sending this letter to wish you a very happy Christmas, and to wonder if you might like to come around my place for tea tomorrow on Boxing Day. I can't come around to Hogwarts, of course, because I'm not that popular there. Except with a few un-named Slytherins, of course. But enough about that._

_I do hope that this killer green-and-red sparrow has made himself at home in your despicable Gryffindor dormitory. As far as I know, this bird will bite everyone except for the recipient of the letter. So sorry about your ickle friends, but they should be back to normal—or as normal as they can be, anyways—within a week. Have fun until then._

_Eagerly awaiting your reply,_

_You-Know-Who"_

Harry sat in the dormitory for a good half hour before realizing who the mysterious sender was. "Oh!" he said at last, "It's my eternal enemy You-Know-Who, also known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Tom, Lord Voldemort, Voldy, Volds, Voldy-Shorts, Moldy-shorts, and Stupid-Idiotic-Git-That's-Constantly-Trying-To-Kill-Me! Of _course _I'll go to tea with him!"

"_Dearest You-Know-Who,_

_Of course I will come around tomorrow! You'll have to tell Snape to escort me to your place of residence, of course, because I have no clue whatsoever where it is._

_I would also like to note that your threat carries no basis whatsoever, as I've been at the top of your 'to kill' list for fifteen years, four months, and six days._

_Oh, and about the sparrows, that's quite alright. I needed a break from my idiotic dorm mates anyways._

_Toodles_

_Harry"_

When the author's English teacher read this letter, she passed out again because of the alright—which, she has drilled into our skulls, is "all right", not alright, and it is not all right to be called alright—and the "anyways", because anyways is not proper English and it should be "anyway".

But Harry didn't care about the author's English teacher, so he gave the letter to the sparrow to bring back to You-Know-Who.

The next day, while all eight hundred or so students were still moaning and wailing about all the rum being gone, Snape Flooed Harry to You-Know-Who's place of residence, which, frighteningly, was completely covered in pink and purple glitter. "You know, the centaurs would probably like this," Harry muttered.

"Dearest Potter schmuk!" Volds said, coming out of the next room in a pink fairy princess dress, "You're just in time for me to deal you in for the next round of poker!"

"Erm…" Harry, who seemed to be saying that a lot, said. "Who are we playing against?"

"Come in and see!"

In the next room was a scene that scarred Harry for life. The room was full of protagonists from various movies and/or books, and they were all dressed in fairy princess costumes. There was Saruman from Lord of the Rings, Cluny from Redwall, Count Olaf from the Series of Unfortunate Events (Harry felt that he could definitely relate to those poor kids, even though the books were technically not published in 1996), Captain Barbosa from Pirates of the Caribbean, King Galbatorix from the Inheritance series, and many more that the author can't think of and poor Harry can't name. Needless to say, it was rather terrifying.

That day, Harry made many more enemies because he threw his pumpkin juice at Cluny, who reminded him too much of Wormtail, and at everyone else, because he got annoyed by their fairy princess costume. Finally deciding that enough was enough, he Flooed back to Hogwarts and went on his way. He had a mission…

"WINKY!" Harry roared once down in the kitchen. The little elf tearfully—and shakily, Harry noticed—walked up to him, "I need you to paint my toenails pink and purple with glitter."

"Why?" she hiccupped.

"So I can spite those bloody centaurs."

"All right," Winky said, and even in her drunken state, she did a fairly good job. The author's English teacher was just glad that she used the correct form of the word "all right".

Harry was soon again in the Great Hall, still full of _Captain _Jack Sparrows, fighting over the little amount of rum that was left. They were also very drunk.

Harry, having nothing better to do, decided to sit down and drink some rum too. In their drunken state, the eight hundred or so _Captain _Jack Sparrows did not notice that he was not one of them, and cheerfully began singing along with Harry,

_"ONE THOUSAND BOTTLES OF RUM ON THE WALL_

_ONE THOUSEAND BOTTLS OF RUM_

_TAKE ONE DOWN, PASS IT AROUND_

_NINEHUNDREDANDNINETYNINE BOTTLES OF RUM ON THE WALL!"_

This went on for quite some time until they got bored. Then they stopped. After that, Harry and the other eight hundred minor characters that really have no point to the story got so drunk that there's nothing more to record, except that they all wished the reader a very hap-_hic_-py Christmas.


End file.
